


Snapshots of a Broken Life

by coneygoil



Category: Wreck-It Ralph (2012)
Genre: Suicidal Thoughts, rip-your-heart-out angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-20
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-10-08 08:43:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10382826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coneygoil/pseuds/coneygoil
Summary: Wreck-It knows the great risks of fighting in Hero’s Duty; maybe that’s why he wants to gamble with his life. Sometimes she wishes she had that option.





	

“I wanna be a soldier.”

She knows he isn’t joking; Wreck-It hasn’t cracked so much as a smile since the unplugging. Calhoun understands. They’re living the same hell, thrust into a nightmare they can’t wake up from. 

“One slip up and its game over.” The warning is pointless. He knows the great risks of fighting in  _Hero’s Duty;_ maybe that’s why he wants to gamble with his life. Sometimes she wishes she had that option. 

“I don’t care.” Wreck-It shrugs in defeat. “What’ll I have to lose?”

* * *

She finds herself watching his back, keeping him from becoming cy-bug chow. She convinces herself she doesn’t care what happens to the human wrecking machine, but she’s lying to herself. Ralph is the last link to her husband – the unspoken brother, you could call him; she can’t allow that to die alongside the handyman. So, she watches his back.

Wreck-It may be a clumsy mess of muscles, but he surprisingly turns into a dedicated soldier. He isn’t the greatest with a gun, and where his aim fails, his fists make up for the shortcomings. That’s one of the reasons Wreck-It stays off-screen working along with Markowski.

The two oafs have a lot in common. As awkward as their first encounter was, Wreck-It and Markowski put it behind them and Calhoun notices a buddy-type friendship beginning to form between the two men. At least one of them isn’t alone.

* * *

Ralph’s grief is as deeply rooted as Calhoun’s, but he finds ways to live with the heartache. He drinks more, mug after mug stuck in his hand. He can hold an ungodly amount of beer in his system, and the little white lie Felix told the Nicelanders about him being passed out in Tapper’s washroom still makes him shake his head.

Felix did have to go find him once. That night was one of Ralph’s lowest; he’d lost hope that his colleagues would ever see him as more than just the bad guy. He’d haunted Tapper’s, as he usually did, but when he left the bar, he couldn’t bring himself to enter the outlet of _Fix-It Felix Jr_. The wrecker sat on a bench outside his home game, and hung his head.

Felix, in a frantic flurry, found him there. He’d urged Ralph to come on, but when the wrecker stayed put, Felix paused.

‘I don’t know if I can do this anymore, Felix,’ Ralph had said.

The handyman drew closer; cautious but closer. ‘Buck up, Ralph. We all have our doubts about how well we do our job. You’re very good at wrecking, so you have nothing to worry about.’

Felix had misunderstood, but the little guy was trying to be encouraging and that’s why Ralph went back that day. Ralph figured Felix had told the lie about him being passed out to save him from embarrassment of exposing his mistaken self-doubt. But honestly, the lie probably made things worse.

Ralph thought the little speech and insight into his feelings was a small breakthrough for him and Felix. Things went back to the normal grind, and it would take the drastic measure of the _going turbo_ incident to finally open Felix’s eyes to his colleague’s plight.

Ralph forgave him. They’d become as close as brothers afterwards, and that’s what made it even harder when Felix disappeared forever.

What reminds him the most of Vanellope is the absence of weight on his shoulders where she used to ride. She’d perch there like she had the best seat in the house; the width of his shoulders wide enough for her to walk on or lay down. She’d occasionally hug his neck or pull his hair like she was tugging the reins of a steed. He complained about her being there, but it was all in good-nature with a smile.

The cookie medal stays safe in his bunk during work hours, but when he’s not fighting cy-bugs, he keeps it close to his heart. If he ever lost the heart-shaped medal, he’d surely lose the tiny part of himself that remains. In some ways, he wishes the homemade medal was gone, so he could stop fighting to exist.

But there is one person left that needs him. She’s never voiced it, but he knows she does because he needs her just bad.

* * *

When Brad was killed, she still had a purpose for living. Vengeance on the filthy virus of her game kept her going; shooting cy-bugs to bits delivered an uncanny sense of comfort for her grief.

But this is a whole different monster. No viable source to focus on, no revenge, nothing to deal mercilessly with; just a vacant void where there used to be life. She’s as dead as the ones who departed.

Wreck-It keeps an eye on her. He may not notice she sees him watching her, and she’s not going to tell him she knows. As much as she detests pity, she can’t bring herself to call him out on it. They both lost their closest companions, and Wreck-It is really the only one who understands how deeply the loss cuts.

Sitting out on a bench inside of the _Hero’s Duty_ outlet is where he finds her. She doesn’t want the company, but she doesn’t turn him away. She catches the alarmed glance Wreck-It gives to the pistol clutched in her hand as he occupies the space beside her.

The eerie quiet inside the outlet is deafening as they sit there together. The pistol weights heavy in her grip, but not as heavy as the weight she’d carried on her heart since the unplugging. “You know, Wreck-It,” she says, leaning elbows on her knees, displaying the pistol better for him to see. “Sometimes I wish I could take this and put it here,” she raises the barrel to her temple, finger itching to squeeze the trigger as she finishes through gritted teeth, “and end it.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots Wreck-It’s hands hovering ready to snatch the weapon from her. But he doesn’t move. “Sarge,” his voice quivers, thick with fear, “Don’t do this.”

He knows the stakes. If she pulls the trigger, it’s game over. For good.

“We were supposed to be together the rest of our lives.” Her and Felix made that promise to each other on their wedding day. She’d vowed to keep him safe, but she failed the most important mission. “I’ve lost the love of my life and a friend who was like my own kid.” Her hand begins to tremble as she squeezes her eyes closed, wanting to shut out the world.

“I lost them too, Sarge.” She hears Wreck-It shift as he exhales a heavy breath. “I lost my game; my home. I lost my best friend; the one person I would die for a thousand times over just to keep her safe. I lost the person who became like a brother to me. They’re gone, and there’s nothing I can do about it.”

Calhoun swallows around the lump in her throat. Wreck-It sounds like he needs the pistol as much as she does, and she wonders why he hasn’t let an errant cy-bug get the best of him. She lowers the weapon, slowly holstering it at her side. The tension that had built up between them eases.

“What now?” she asks. There is no answer that will bring any lasting comfort.

Wreck-It jerks a thumb to the tunnel of _Hero’s Duty_. “There’s a whole platoon of guys in there that need you. They may not say it, but every one of them cares about you. They need their leader.” He never touches her, but for this one time, he gently cups her shoulder. “I need you too, Sarge.”

Life in the arcade carries on, whether you’re hurting or not. Her and Wreck-It’s unspoken pact will last as long as one of them is alive; secretly, she hopes to be the first to break it. Until then, there’s an army to lead and cy-bugs to obliterate. It will have to be enough.


End file.
